Corporate Seduction

by A. C. Arthur

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  Keep it light, he told himself. She was being civil to him again. He didn’t want to mess that up. “Sitting next to a pretty woman always makes a man look good.”

  “Or like a sex-crazed fool, take your pick,” she quipped.

  He chuckled. “I asked you before if you liked me and you didn’t answer.”

  “So?” She hadn’t wanted to answer him then, and she definitely didn’t want to answer him now. Would he know if she lied? Probably, since he looked at her as if he could see right through to her soul. That rattled her too.

  He recognized avoidance, a common ploy when you really did like someone. Smiling, he asked, “So, do you like me?”

  She took a sip of her drink. There wasn’t enough vodka in her martini, she thought dismally, and put the glass down. “You’ll do. If you can stop those messages I’ll probably like you a lot more.”

  Because she’d mentioned the messages again, he wondered what really bothered her about them. Just about everyone else in the office that he’d talked to, with the exception of Cienna, took the emails as an ongoing joke and didn’t attach much importance to them. Yet Reka seemed really bothered by them. “The emails seem to irk you a little more than they do the other employees.” For the first time he wondered if she were the one sending them, and if this was her way of clearing her name ahead of time.

  “I told you, the office is not the place to discuss sex.”

  He wholeheartedly agreed. But they weren’t in the office now. And since they were two consenting adults, talking about sex wasn’t a crime. Unless you weren’t getting any sex. Then that could be touchy. He had no idea if she were having sex and berated himself for even thinking of her that way. She was so much more than just a beautiful body.

  He was getting way ahead of himself and needed to pull back, to remember that his relationship with her for now was purely business. And while he had already decided he would be changing that status, it wouldn’t be here and it wouldn’t be tonight. “You’re right. That’s why I’m going to concentrate on finding this guy and putting a stop to this madness.”

  Grateful that they weren’t going to discuss those emails in detail, Reka stood, grabbing her purse so she could pay for her drinks and leave.

  “I’ll pay for the drinks.”

  “Fine.” She didn’t feel like arguing that she could pay for her own drinks. She just wanted to leave. She began to walk away.

  Khalil hurriedly threw some bills on the bar and went after her. Outside the night air was brisk. He pulled his jacket closer and watched as she attempted to hail a cab. He went to the curb, touched a hand to her elbow in an effort to pull her back. “Let me get that for you.”

  Reka rolled her eyes. “No, thanks. Paying for my drinks was all the chivalry I can stand for one night.” But she wouldn’t deny that his touch had inexplicably warmed her.

  Khalil ignored her remark and hailed a cab, satisfied when the vehicle pulled up to the curb. He opened the back door and motioned for her to get in. “I’ll see you home,” he said as she was about to slide into the backseat.

  “Don’t bother. I’m young, but I’m old enough to see myself home,” she spoke harshly.

  Khalil again ignored her comments and not-so-gently pushed her inside before climbing in behind her. Before she could speak, he closed the door and tapped on the window for the driver to begin moving. “Give him your address,” he instructed her.

  Reka opened her mouth to protest, closed it, then rolled her eyes at him again. Reluctantly, she gave the driver her address. Otherwise they’d ride around the city for who knew how long and she desperately wanted, needed, to get away from this man.

  Her sanity depended on it.

  3

  They traveled in silence.

  Reka seethed at his audacity. He hadn’t known her a full day and he was acting like her long-lost friend. She didn’t need an escort home. She was capable of getting there on her own. And if he thought he was paying her cab fare, he had another thought coming.

  Khalil couldn’t help feeling the heated vibes coming across the back seat he shared with her. She absolutely did not want to be near him. Yet there were moments when he looked into her eyes and could swear he saw something else. She seemed totally resistant to any attempt he made at simply being friendly. If he told her that he had no intention of stopping at friendship, she’d run for her life. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

  He’d already decided that as feisty and independent as she appeared on the outside, on the inside Reka was a frightened young lady, using her prior experiences with men to dictate her future.

  Though he’d figured out her problem, he was still baffled as to how to get around it.

  The cab slowed and then pulled up in front of a red brick duplex. He almost smiled when he realized she was only about two blocks away from his condo. He spied the meter and quickly retrieved the money from his wallet.

  At the same time Reka pulled out a twenty and was about to extend it when she witnessed the driver taking his money. Immediately she thrust her money toward him. “Here, I can pay my own way home.”

  “Put your money away. I know you’re employed and capable of paying for things yourself.” Without waiting for a reply he took the handle and let himself out of the cab.

  She closed her lips tightly. He was really beginning to irritate her. Who told him he had a right to simply pay for things on her behalf? She slid across the vinyl seat and stepped out into the night air, turning to face him instantly. “Look, I’m not a charity case,” she began.

  Khalil shut the door of the cab and waved the driver on before taking her by the elbow and leading her onto the sidewalk.

  “Where’s the cab going?” She looked unhappily at the cab proceeding down the street. “And why are you still here?”

  Khalil put his hands in his pockets, quite amazed that such a small person could talk so much. “First things first,” he began, watching her closely. “I know you’re not a charity case, but I’m a gentleman. You had a few drinks. I was there, so I paid for them. I said I would see you home, so I paid for your cab fare. Now put your money away. All New Yorkers aren’t as kind as I am.”

  Reka opened her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it again. Realizing that they were standing outside on a very public sidewalk, the odds of someone coming along and snatching the twenty dollar bill out of her hand were a tad on the high side, so she stuffed the money into her pocket. “Well, that doesn’t explain—”

  Khalil put two fingers to her lips. “Next, seeing you home means making sure you are safely in your house.” He looked at the building they stood in front of. “Is this where you live?”

  Reka started to speak, then realized his fingers—which were quite warm and tempted her to kiss them—were still firmly planted on her lips. All that escaped was a muffled sound. Giving him an angry look, she removed his fingers from her lips, cleared her throat and spoke. “Yes, I live here. And thank you for seeing me home, but I think I can manage walking up the steps and letting myself into the building.”

  For the first time tonight Khalil actually clenched his teeth in annoyance. Why was he even bothering? Finding a woman had never been a problem for him. To the contrary, between them, his mother and his sister had enough friends and sisters of friends to keep him occupied for years to come. But the thought of those other women paled in comparison to Reka. “I’ll walk you in.” He grabbed her elbow again and they took the steps.

  “This really isn’t necessary.”

  “I agree, you’re acting like a child. It’s a simple courtesy to see a woman home, and you’re making it seem like I’m kidnapping you or something.”

  At the top of the steps she pulled away from him and turned so they were face to face. “I am not acting like a child!” Because he might not have believed her, she resisted stomping her foot. This man was making her crazy. “I just mean that taking me all the way to my door like we’ve ju
st returned from a date isn’t necessary.”

  He wanted to be angry with her; he wanted to tell her and her smart remarks to go to hell and walk the remaining blocks to his condo. But she stared up at him, those golden eyes shooting sparks his way, her shoulders squared in defense. And all anger fled. She was protecting herself, an instinct most likely as natural for her as breathing.

  He took a deep breath and spoke calmly, “Open the door, Reka.”

  Was it the way he spoke with controlled authority? Or was it the look he was giving her? The one that made her want to smile, to relax and just be herself. She wasn’t sure but her hands went to her purse and she found her key, turned and opened the door.

  They walked up the flight of stairs leading to her first floor apartment, pausing in front of the next door. She turned to him, ready to say goodnight, but he was right behind her so that they were now toe to toe, his eyes pinning her against the door.

  “Now, was that so difficult?” he asked when she remained quiet.

  His closeness surrounded her until she had to fight to breathe. “No,” she responded in a voice that sounded foreign to her own ears. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.” Her shoulders slumped as she’d attempted to right her wrong behavior. On the trip up the stairs she’d admitted to herself that he was only trying to be nice and she was repaying him with a totally bitchy attitude. All day and all night he’d only been polite and courteous to her. It was this strange attraction she was feeling that made her so irritable. But that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t change how attractive he was, nor could he change the reasons she shouldn’t want him to touch her. None of what she was feeling was his fault, and she needed to stop blaming him.

  “You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just chalk it up to a rough day at the office and leave it at that.” He offered a smile in exchange for the apology he could see was hard for her to give. “Go ahead and open the door so I can be assured you’re safe. That’s all.”

  She gave him a tentative smile back. He really was being too nice to her. Had she been in his shoes she would have certainly cursed herself out about three hours ago. Instead, he stood waiting patiently for her to go into her apartment before he would leave her.

  How many dates had dropped her off at the curb after securing her half of the cab fare? Too many to count.

  Putting her key into the door, she pushed it open and was about to turn and say goodnight when a loud crash came from inside the apartment. She stilled.

  From behind Khalil asked, “You have company?”

  She turned to him, then back to try to see into the dark living room of her apartment. “No, I shouldn’t have. I live alone.” She’d begun to whisper, her heart beating faster at the thought that there was, in fact, someone in her house.

  Khalil grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. “Wait here, I’ll check it out.”

  There was that quiet command in his voice again. She wasn’t sure but she didn’t think she liked it. This was her house. If anybody was going to go in and check things out it would be her. “Oh no, this is my place. If somebody’s in there stealing my stuff, I want to be the one to bust his head!” Instinctively she moved to the umbrella stand by the door and lifted her souvenir Yankees bat into her hand.

  Was she out of her mind? Did she have any idea how dangerous it was to walk up on a burglar? Especially in New York? The bulb from the hallway provided enough light so that he could still faintly see her as she headed towards the kitchen. In one stride he was beside her. With an arm around her waist, he turned her so that she was again behind him and he proceeded towards the kitchen, blocking her as she continued to try to get in front. At the doorway they both slowed, leaned over and peeked inside.

  Khalil was confused.

  Reka was relieved. “Grammy?”

  The refrigerator door was ajar, a very plump, flower-clad posterior protruding from its center. Humming echoed through the small kitchen, and Khalil struggled to hold a smile at bay. At the sound of Reka’s voice, he straightened and allowed her passage.

  “Grammy? Is that you?”

  The humming stopped abruptly and the flowered bottom turned to face them. The cherubic face was red at the cheeks, probably from her prolonged visit inside the refrigerator. In one hand full of rings she held a platter of lunch meat. Stuffed under the other arm was a box of saltine crackers.

  “There you are. I was calling for you but you didn’t answer. Do you have any jelly?” the woman, who looked to be in her seventies, asked.

  Reka let her bat slide to the floor as she closed the distance between them. “Grammy, what are you doing here? How did you get here?”

  Reka couldn’t believe her eyes. What was her eighty-year-old grandmother doing in her kitchen at eight o’clock at night when she lived in a retirement center all the way across town?

  “I took a cab. How do you think I got here? Now come over here and find the jelly. I don’t know why you and your mother insist on keeping it in the refrigerator anyhow. It belongs in the pantry.”

  Reka moved to the refrigerator, retrieved the jelly and closed the door. Grammy had already moved her round body to the counter, where she deposited the other items and began to make herself a cracker sandwich. Again Reka said, “Grammy, I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

  Slapping a piece of bologna onto her cracker, then opening the jar of jelly, Grammy took a deep breath, then turned to face her granddaughter. “Gal, don’t keep asking me foolish questions. I’m here, ain’t I? I told you I took a cab. Now if you want to make yourself helpful, put on a pot of water for some tea. I’m hungry.”

  Khalil had gone to shut the front door. Now that it appeared Reka wasn’t in any danger he figured he should probably leave. But something told him all was not right with this picture. She’d said she lived alone, yet there was an elderly woman scouring through her refrigerator. He found himself walking back towards the kitchen to check on them.

  Reka had almost forgotten about him until she’d put the water on to boil and turned to see him standing in the doorway.

  “Um, this is my grandmother,” she’d begun to explain when Grammy stopped fixing her snack and pushed her to the side to stand in front of Khalil with her hand extended.

  “I’m Estelle Grant, and you are a very handsome young man.”

  Reka rolled her eyes skyward, praying her grandmother would not continue to embarrass her. Why hadn’t Khalil just left when he realized it wasn’t a burglar in her kitchen? This man was just too chivalrous for her.

  Khalil smiled at the warmth in the woman’s eyes, eyes like Reka’s. He took her hand and shook it lightly. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m Khalil Franklin. I work with Reka.”

  Estelle held on to his hand. “Reka. Isn’t that a pretty name?” she asked, then looked down at his hands. “And you have nice big hands. You know what that means,” she said, casting a satisfied smile over her shoulder to Reka.

  Over Estelle’s head Khalil found Reka’s gaze and admitted seriously, “Yes, ma’am, it sure is a pretty name.”

  Reka shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. “Grammy, Khalil was just dropping me off. He needs to get home.” He needs to get away from me, and he definitely needs to get away from Grammy and her wandering eyes, she thought to herself.

  This was the first time he’d heard her say his name. He liked how it sounded on her lips.

  “Nonsense. You’re being rude. At least offer your date a nightcap.”

  “He’s not my—” she started to say.

  “It is rather chilly outside. A cup of tea would be nice.” Khalil had instantly liked Mrs. Grant. Her open smile and twinkling eyes gave him the impression that she, too, would be a good ally. With one glance at Reka’s glare, he knew he was going to need all the allies he could get to win her over.

  * * *

  Grammy and Khalil had long since moved into the living room, where he’d so helpfully started a fire. Now they sat on the couch, talking and laughing like lo
ng lost friends, while she stood in the kitchen looking through the small opening in the wall at them.

  She’d called her mother and, together, they’d discovered that Grammy had left Sunny Days Retirement Center early this morning and hadn’t returned. Reka had no idea how long her grandmother had been in her apartment, nor did she have a clue as to how she got in. Her mother had said to let her stay for the night, that she’d be there first thing in the morning to take her back.

  Reka sighed. She’d seen Grammy slip a brown paper bag from the pocket of her mutli-colored housecoat and pour something into her tea. No doubt it was whiskey. Grammy loved her VO.

  “So where’d you take my granddaughter this evening? And why are you back so early? In my day, my beaus didn’t bring me home a minute before curfew.” Grammy crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her arms, rocking back against the big pillows on Reka’s couch.

  “Actually, I didn’t take her anywhere. We were at a bar for happy hour with another co-worker. I just met her today.”

  “Oh. Well, you plan on taking her someplace special, right? Because my grandbaby deserves the best.”

  Khalil smiled, wholeheartedly agreeing with her. “Yes ma’am, she does deserve the best.”

  With that statement Reka made her way into the room. It was definitely time for him to go now. “Grammy, it’s time for you to be heading off to bed.” She walked closer to the couch, aware that Khalil was staring at her as she moved.

  She’d taken her shoes off but still wore her stockings. Her scarf was gone, long since thrown into her purse, and the top three buttons of her blouse were undone so that she was now showing a considerable amount of cleavage. But she was tired and mentally exhausted. Fighting with her conscience all day over whether or not she should be feeling what she was feeling for this man had been an exhausting battle. Now all she wanted to do was climb into her bed and fall into a deep sleep, hopefully free from thoughts of Khalil.

  “I ain’t ready for bed. It’s still early,” Grammy protested.

  Khalil stood, noting how Reka’s steps had begun to drag. She was tired; it was written all over her face. He’d have to spend time with her lively grandmother another evening. “Mrs. Grant, I really must be going.”